Tag Archives: self love

Day 12

Day 12

Do you include financial submission within the definition of your own submission and if yes, how does it manifest itself? If no, is there a particular reason why? Are you familiar with the concepts of financial submission? Do you have an opinion about financial submission in general?

No, I don’t personally.

Although I can slip into a submissive mindset at the drop of a hat, I am not Jame’s submissive 24/7. I am not anyone’s submissive 24/7.

I have seen contracts written up between slaves/subs and Masters where the slave/sub signs over all of their property for the duration of the relationship. They’re allowed to use it as their Master sees fit. I know other submissives (especially those who are married) that exist on an allowance from their Sir or Master, and that is all they need.

… I can’t exist like this. It’s a personal thing.

It’s not that I couldn’t sign over my possessions to someone I trusted… and if I belong to someone completely you damn well better believe that I trust them. It’s that I know myself well enough to know that I need a balance between my D/s life and my independent life.

Specifically, that I need some time when I am just Rena. Or I begin to depend on that person much too much. I become a burden, rather than just a chosen responsibility. I fall into a 24/7 mindset and begin to depend on them for everything. From what I wear, to what I need to do next, to what I should say to someone next… and I don’t like myself like that.

That is not to say ANYTHING against true 24/7 submissives. Those that can do it, and do it in a healthy way, I envy. Part of me wishes I could delve into the world of kink without needing any ‘off’ time.. but I’ve been there. I was that way with Kane, and it wasn’t healthy for either of us.

I know submissives who thrive with financial submission woven into their BDSM lives. It helps them budget more, it makes them think before they buy, and all in all has helped them to be a better submissive and person.. This is fantastic..

I… am not in a place where I would be comfortable letting someone else touch my finances and possessions.. Not just because I’m not someone’s collared 24/7 sub..but also because my finances are a wee bit of a mess. I mean.. it’s a normal “fuck I’m in my 20’s” mess… and while I do accept help from time to time when I find myself fucked up shits creek without a paddle, I feel like digging myself out of the financial hole is a 20something right of passage. My partners tend to be older, a wee bit wiser, and have already dug themselves out of the mess I’m in… I don’t want anyone fixing my life lessons for me. I want to do it myself. Learn from it to become a better me. If I was older, in a more stable place, then maybe financial submission would be an option… but for now it’s part of my life that is just mine, just as his finances are part of the ‘just his’ life.

I suppose time will tell if this particular kink ever changes with me. We shall see.

Yours, the starving artist

-Rena

“Sexy”

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I have never considered myself to be “sexy.” Ever.

That is not to say that I consider myself unattractive or ugly, or that I don’t think people desire me. I just have never thought of myself as sexy.

This evening was a lovely example of why. For one of my jobs I make my own hours. I found myself in one of my favorite neighborhoods in the city tonight after several hours of work and a parking spot miraculously appeared. Being a fan of signs from the Universe, I decided to take the spot and give myself the rest of the night off.

I was parked across the street from Good Vibrations, one of my favorite stores for toys of the buzz buzz variety, novelty items, informative classes of a variety of topics, and erotica of various topics (they have a fantastic website as well and are super female friendly. Seriously, if you can’t get to the stores check out their website. They tend to throw in free goodies whenever you order… – http://goodvibesblog.com/). The only catch with the store is that you have to be 18+ to enter, understandably considering what they sell.

I was standing in the store perusing the erotica to see if there were any holes in my Alison Tyler collection when one of the employees of the store walked over and just sort of..stared at me. I was in my more saucy outfits (again, not sexy… so saucy is about as close as it gets), a bright blue, low cut leopard print dress with a back cut out. It’s form fitting on top, flairs at the waist, and hits me just above my knee. My ass is covered so long as gusts of wind behave themselves and manage not to blow in an upwardly direction. That happens and..well.. I flash Valencia Street, but otherwise I love the dress. I had my hair back to show off marks on both my chest and neck left behind from James, actually had a dash of makeup on for once, and thought that I looked liked my nearly-24-years.

“Excuse me sweetie, but I’m going to need to see your I.D.”

I had been zoning, mentally reliving some of my favorite spicy moments from old erotica friends when she spoke to me. I think my head actually snapped up in surprise.

“Ok.. may I ask why?”

“Just let me see it please, sweetie.”

I handed it over and watched this poor girl turn scarlet. She couldn’t have been older than nineteen, if that, and was not someone I was familiar with working in the store.

“Oh I’m so sorry miss! I really thought you were closer to my age! You just.. you look seventeen!”

I am a rather compact creature, standing all of 4 ft 10.5 inches. I have been called a people mcnugget, pocket sized, fun sized, nibble sized, and a lot of woman in a little package.. I have curves, an ass that I’m pretty sure has its own orbit..and a baby face with big brown eyes and full lips on top of it all. I am very used to people thinking that I am younger than I am. It’s one of the main reasons I fought my Little side for so damn long. Under 21 I am used to, and I have accepted that I will be carded until I either finally go grey or wrinkles take over my face and my tits sag to my ankles.

But under 18? I haven’t passed for that young in a very long time.

So, why am I rambling on about me being mistaken for a teenager?

I do not consider myself sexy.. However I can do adorable very well. And innocent. And innocently wicked. I can do sexily sweet, easily corruptible, wide-eyed with wonder, and I’ve been told I look rather pretty when I cry.

There is no one-way to be a submissive, or to be attractive as that submissive.

When you dive into the public scene you quickly discover that there is a sort of dungeon uniform for the submissive type; corsets, garter belts, thigh highs, heels… Nipple clamps and cuffs and leashes, oh my! With that uniform comes a certain mental expectation as to how that uniform is going to end up looking on you.

The harsh reality is that the uniform almost never looks how you imagine.

After that harsh reality begins the hard part, figuring out what your dungeon uniform will be.

Dressing up for public play is not about fitting some subby stereotype. It’s about putting on whatever makes you feel like you are the most desirable creature on the planet. What makes you feel like the best you possible, whether you are the 6 ft 5 Amazon or the innocent looking 4 ft 5 little pet.

“Sub-type” is a very big blanket term, as is “bottom”. This includes, but is not limited to, Littles, pets, submissives, slaves, masochists… the list is endless… and what makes a pet who sees themselves as a little lion look their best is going to be different than a slave who sees themselves at their master’s feet whenever humanly possible.

I try really hard to remind myself of this during those ‘you look 17’ moments. I know my strengths. I work my curves, my innocence, and I’m damn good at batting those big brown eyes and pouting those lips. But when you’re involved with someone who makes a living taking photographs of the stereotypical ‘gorgeous’ and ‘sexy’ women it’s hard to remember your strengths. There are times when I wish with everything in me I weighed about half of what I did and was about half a foot taller, where I could scamper around and pose in a way that people would consider me ‘beautiful’ as well and look twice at me.

But most of the time I remember that I have my own unique ways of making the lovers in my life look twice. My ‘uniform’ fits me, and while I may not be the definition of ‘sexy’ you would see if you looked it up in the dictionary, I feel my best walking around the dungeon in my corset and frilly panties. I’m slowly reaching the point where I feel confident walking around the dungeon in nothing at all, especially after a scene. I know where I fit. I know I belong in that space and that the people that want me there want me as I am.

That’s about a sexy as it gets in my book.

Yours fun sized đŸ˜›

-Rena

Perfectly Imperfect?

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There are times when I feel like a creature of flaws.

I used to do this glazing technique that was a crackle glaze over already finished tile I got from a scrap yard. When the coat of glaze was heavy enough it would remain on the tile and do this weird bubbling effect. When the layer was too light and I miscalculated the glaze would chip off, leaving these unfinished holes in my piece.

Sometimes that’s what I see when I look at myself. I am afraid that if I keep people close to me for too long the good parts will chip off in their mind, leaving all these damaged holes they didn’t know about. No one wants to deal with someone who’s just a bunch of damage and flaws. Physically, I can rip myself apart easily. I’m an overweight midget who looks twelve. Emotionally I can be immature and self deprecating (kinda like right now). Mentally I spiral at times and get depressive spikes during times like this where my life just isn’t on track.

The day started perfectly. I woke up wrapped in Kane’s arms, which turned into snuggling, caressing, and talking. There are times when I like waking up to a cock between my legs..and there are times when I relish the comfort of company. There was a point where he carried on a conversation we had started yesterday and I thought finished.

“I know you hate your tummy” he said at one point, and I do. He was running a hand down my lower back and over my ass. “But when you lay like this you are perfect, with the perfect little heart shaped ass, shapely legs, and a tight little waist.” I don’t know what he sees at times…but he made me smile.

After he left for work I got up and tried to cook an experimental breakfast. Once, twice, three times I tried something that I had made before..three times it failed. I finally went to the go-to bowl of cereal, leaving the pan on the stove in frustration.

I get my shit together to FINALLY go to the DMV and get a California license. I got there, pulled out the birth certificate that my father sent me…and saw it was issued in 1999.

Now I’m young, but I’m not that young.

It was my baby sister’s, which he sent me on accident. I called and informed him of the mistake, and he cursed a bit, but figured out that we could fix the problem by Friday. Still, it was a trip wasted and I was frustrated.

I went home and started a new project to sell on Etsy with materials I already had. I finished one, exercised, then came upstairs to finish the other. For some reason the parts of the other weren’t lining up. I undid it, tried again. It’s fucked up again. I undid it, tried it a third time..and threw the piece down on the table in frustration, got up, and took out the trash for Kane. One of my tasks is to do any dirty dishes that I make, and I’m normally on dinner duty when I cook. It was so late in the day and I was so frustrated I thought I would just wash them later when I needed the pan for cooking.

I didn’t see that the trash bag had leaked into the bottom of the trash can, and didn’t think that Kane would want to cook. He has a thing with rotten food, he just can’t do it. The site of it killed his appetite entirely. And then I heard the sound of him doing my dishes. Chip chip chip.

I went and hid in the studio room and started typing this blog up. Of course, he found me, and told me to come out. He asked me why I was hiding..and I told him I fucked up. “Did I say you fucked up?” he asked me. No. No he hadn’t, but I knew a lot of what went wrong was my fault. “Let me be the judge of that. When you fuck up I will tell you.

Easier said than done.

Now he’s in the bedroom..he didn’t eat dinner. I’m on the couch. Normally we curl up. We eat dinner together. Snuggle. Watch TV. Tonight.. I guess it’s just off. Part of me wants to go in the bedroom. Part of me wants to hide all the chips and stay out here. It’s easier to hide, to keep people at a distance, because the more you let them in the more it hurts when they leave.

I have let my Dominant and my boyfriend in more than I have let any man. I trust him completely, and love him more than I thought capable..so why am I still afraid of fucking up so badly that he throws me back? We talk about a future, with kids, a dog, and cats if he can stand the litter box. He says he accepts me how I am..which would be a first for any man in my life..

So why do I still feel like I’m rotten inside? There’s this gaping “I”M NOT GOOD ENOUGH” hole in me..and I don’t know how to word it without sounding like I’m going “pity me, pity me.” How do you talk to someone about that? “So, I know that you love me and all, but I’ve been screwing up in my mind so much lately that I feel like the shit on your shoe and I’m not sure what to do about it.” I know the “but I don’t see you that way and you didn’t fuck up” answer won’t fix it. He says I didn’t fuck up tonight..but I still want to curl up in a ball and hide.

I almost wish I had fucked up in his mind..then maybe he would punish me and this feeling wold go away. I don’t know. Maybe I’m just caught in a spiral due to the whole lack of job thing..the bad mood comes and goes. He didn’t kick me out. He didn’t tell me to go home.

I just mentally did it to myself.

Maybe that’s the problem.

Someday, maybe, I’ll see more than just my flaws.

Yours with chips

~Rena